Page 15 of Shark Cove

Malia nodded, and plugged her ears with her earbuds. She trotted down the stairs, out the front door, and down the cement steps of the aging cedar dwelling built in the 1970s.

Velvety soft darkness enfolded her as she left the lights of the house. They lived on a little cul-de-sac in Waiehu, about ten miles to the north of her school, and their road was usually empty.

Malia didn’t turn on the front porch light. Instead, she stood in the shadows on the side of the house, one hand curled around the pepper spray and the other around her phone. She thumbed it to the flashlight app. Maybe she could startle the blackmailer and turn the tables on him or her.

Once her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, Malia scanned for the sight of a car, or anyone around. Their house was semi-isolated, with trees growing in vacant lots on either side of it, and a cow pasture just across the street.

She walked lightly, on the balls of her feet, to the end of the driveway. A car rolled slowly toward her, only its running lights on.Had to be the blackmailer.

Malia drew back, squatting in the shadows beside the scraggly hibiscus hedge. Blackmailers were bullies. She had to show she wasn’t going to be intimidated from the beginning, or the blackmailer would try to keep getting her to do whatever he or she wanted.

The car cut its lights and rolled to a spooky stop right at the end of her driveway—some sort of sedan, with nice, rounded lines, but Malia couldn’t see what kind or make out the license plate. She waited a moment more and was rewarded for her patience—a window rolled down. The dim outline of someone in the driver’s seat was visible; the guy was staring at her house.

Her heart thundering, Malia brought her phone up and ran to the open window in a burst of speed, hitting the button for the flashlight app just as she reached the car and bringing up the pepper spray, aimed at the driver. “Put up your hands!” She hissed as loudly as she dared. “I’ve got pepper spray on you!”

The glare of the flashlight app had blinded the blackmailer, just as she’d hoped—but it had also blindedher.Malia couldn’t see a thing but the bright outline of a guy’s hands, raised in a classic surrender gesture.

Fortunately, her eyes adjusted faster than the blackmailer’s because the full glare wasn’t in her eyes—but her shock at who she recognized made her almost drop the phone.

Blake Lee, Mr. Homecoming King, blinked at her, his hands in the air.

“You,” she gasped.

“Nice move. You got the drop on me,” he said.

Malia flicked off the flashlight. Both were plunged into welcome darkness. “How did you figure out it was me?”

“Tracked your IP address, like I said.”

“That wouldn’t work. There’s a host server where the blog is stored, and software to disguise my IP. That can’t be how you found out the website was mine.”

“Does it matter? Get in the car. I don’t like sitting where your mom can see us.” Blake’s voice hardened. Malia couldn’t agree more about her mom seeing them not being a good thing, so she trotted around to the passenger side, opened the door, and got in.

Blake started the engine but didn’t turn on the lights. They rolled silently down the narrow road until they reached a shoulder pullout.

“This is far enough.” Malia could still hop out and run home in just a few minutes. “I need to know how you found out about me.”

“Camille told me.”

Malia’s breath blew out in a whoosh, the knife of betrayal and abandonment twisting in her gut. “She wouldn’t.”

“Yes, she would. She told me it was you, and that she’d talk to you about all those posts about me you were putting up.” His scowl was lit by the low dashboard light. “Instead, your posts just got worse. First the man-slut thing about prom, then that Cupid cartoon you put up—where do you get off treating people like that? What did I ever do to you?” His voice rose.

“I’m sorry,” Malia stuttered, her cloak of anonymity stripped away. She squeezed the canister of pepper spray tightly. If only she could be beamed to another planet!

“I kept messaging Camille. I thought she was believing those rumors because she didn’t answer. Finally, she sent me a message telling me she believed me, that I wasn’t going out with three girls—and thenyou!You put that thing up about her missing! Why would you do that? I thought she was your best friend!” Blake’s voice was a low roar of fury.

“Camille really is missing. That is the God’s honest truth. Mom told me there’s a missing person report filed by Ms. William and everything. I’m trying to find out what happened to her.”

“Camille? She’d never run away.”

“That’s what I said. But it looks like she did.” Malia bit her lips. She didn’t really believe Camille had run away, but she wasn’t about to tell Blake her dark theories. He was a threat, a serious problem. He knew the Wallflower’s identity, and she had no idea how to handle it. Maybe an olive branch was a good start. “I apologize for the posts about you. I’ll take down the Cupid thing. And the contest.”

“What contest?”

“The contest to see who should go to the prom with you now that Jodie dumped you. They’re nominating people.”

“You’re shittin’ me.” Blake’s angry growl made her bring the pepper spray out of her pocket, but then he laughed, a sound with a harsh edge. “I’ve got to hand it to you, Malia, you know how to keep people tuning in to your crap. All those little videos and captions? Brilliant.” He whacked the steering wheel. “I just wish it wasn’t me you’ve had a target on for the last year or so.”

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